


Roses and Cornflowers

by I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Flirting, M/M, Misunderstandings, Strangers to Lovers, competitors to lovers, it's not his fault Geralt is an idiot, jaskier means well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 09:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee/pseuds/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee
Summary: Geralt has a secret admirer who gives him flowers. The problem is that Geralt is a florist and mildly pissed off that his secret admirer suports his competitor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 196





	Roses and Cornflowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Applepower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applepower/gifts).



> my friend, there's no obligation for you to read this again, it's pretty much just an edited version of what I posted on tumblr. and good god it definitely needed editing. I shoudln't be allowed to post stuff in the middle of the night when my one braincell has already gone to sleep.

Geralt’s face was a stone mask as he stared at his doorstep, only cracking the tiniest bit when he bent down to pick up the bouquet, just as he had done almost every day since he had moved to this town to open his new shop almost two months ago. 

“A gift from a secret admirer,” Lambert had called it with a shit-eating grin when Geralt had been stupid and drunk enough to tell his brothers about the flowers he kept finding on the doorsteps of his shop. 

Eskel had rolled his eyes at Lambert but then he had shrugged and said that getting a secret admirer wasn’t the worst start to living in a new place.

No, Geralt supposed for most people -unlike him - receiving flowers would be a nice thing. But then again, most people - unlike him - didn’t own flowershops. 

Why would anyone give flowers to a florist? What had started out as something Geralt might even be looking forward to, if he were completely honest with himself, had quickly become an annoyance. At this point, it must clearly be some kind of stupid joke. No one in their right mind would continue giving such gifts for so long without giving any indication as to who they were or what exactly they wanted from Geralt. At this point it wasn't unlikely that all they wanted was to see Geralt decend into madness as he had to find new space to put the flowers, never knowing where they even came from.

With a scoff he went inside, almost tempted to just throw the bouquet into the bin and be done with it - if the 'admirer' was watching then at least that would give a clear signal that Geralt didn't want to be bothered - but against his better judgement he put them away in a vase at the last moment, before setting up the shop for the day. Though his movements came with practiced precision, his eyes and mind wandered back to the bouquet. 

Maybe it wasn’t a joke after all. Though it was mainly made up of buttercups, cornflowers and other complimentary flowers – or weeds rather - bouquets were far too expensive to buy one every day for such a long time just to make fun of someone. Maybe the ‘admirer’ just thought that as a florist Geralt would appreciate flowers all the more?

And perhaps he would – he certainly knew how to appreciate good work – if it didn’t mean that whoever got him the flowers must be buying them at the only other florist in town that oh so conveniently had his shop just across the street from him. As far as romantic gestures went, supporting his competitor was about the worst thing an admirer could do. 

To add insult to injury, the other shop was already thriving and luring in all the customers Geralt might have gotten if the other shop hadn’t been there. 

If one could even call it a flower shop, that is. 

_Wish upon a Dandelion_ was not what Geralt would call professional. Though he had to begrudgingly admit that there was a certain craft to the way the flowers were arranged and the florist undeniably had an eye for colours, his choice of flowers was atrocious. 

No respectable florist would even think about selling wildflowers and weeds and as if that wasn’t already enough, Geralt’s rival put them on the same shelf as roses and other normal flowers. 

Then again, Jaskier didn’t seem like the kind of person who put much value into being respectable. Too openly was he toeing the line of what was an acceptable amount of friendliness between him and his customers, as far as Geralt could see through the window. 

Not that Geralt knew much about how to treat customers correctly. Maybe he would, if Jaskier didn’t prevent them all from coming into his shop. 

It didn’t matter how much care Geralt put into arranging the flowers in the display window and how hard he worked to keep his flowers in perfect shape, barely anyone even grazed his shop with so much as a glance. 

And why would they? He too would rather go to the man with the bright smile and warm blue eyes that crinkled beautifully when he talked about his flowers. Anyone who met Jaskier even once would want to see him again. 

Geralt should know. Ever since Jaskier had strolled into his shop on the day he had first opened, welcoming him into the street and talking as if Geralt wasn't awkward and uncomfortable to be around, he had found himself wishing he would come in here again, despite his ridiculous way of running his shop. 

But Geralt wasn’t stupid enough to think he would ever see more of Jaskier again than the glimpses he caught through the window. He had made sure of that when he had done nothing but grunt and stare at Jaskier in the way that Lambert always said intimidated people. Sure enough, Jaskier’s face had fallen and he left the shop, never to return again. Apart from the times he waved over at Geralt when they closed shops at the same time, he didn’t show any sign of wanting to speak with Geralt again. And even those brief chances at another conversation, Geralt wasn't brave enough to take, always turning away harshly and hiding the flush on his face as he walked away. It was a stupid fantasy, but any small hopes he had of Jaskier calling afte him, maybe telling him that he didn't need to leave, that Jaskier wanted to spend some time with him, were crushed as he walked away in silence and alone time and time again.

Geralt pretended that he wasn’t disappointed. 

Just as he pretended that he didn’t feel a strange pang in his chest whenever he saw how other people earned Jaskier’s easy smiles and charming words that Geralt so stupidly had rejected. 

Hell, even his ‘secret admirer’ probably got to bask in those brilliant smiles when he bought the flowers for Geralt. 

The thought made Geralt pause. 

No one, absolutely no one would admire Geralt if they also knew Jaskier. 

He didn’t know why he felt so disappointed at the realisation. He had never wanted an admirer. Not some stranger at least. He shouldn’t care if the person who got him the flowers was doing so as a backwards way of saying that everyone preferred Jaskier’s shop and that Geralt wasn’t wanted here. But whatever reason the gifter had to mock Geralt, it hurt that they were doing so by using Jaskier’s flowers.

He knew the sudden anger that boiled up inside him was irrational, but that didn’t stop him from abandoning his tasks.

He acted without thinking, grabbing peonies, roses and lilies – flowers that actually belonged in flower shops – and bound them into a bouquet. Before he could think this through, he was storming out of his shop and across the street. 

The bells above the door jingled as Geralt marched into the _Wish upon a Dandelion_. Jaskier’s eyes snapped up at him and Geralt’s breath hitched, almost forgetting why he had come here to begin with. For what better reason could there be than to see those eyes? 

For the briefest moment, that typical smile on Jaskier’s face froze when his eyes fell on Geralt, before they darted down to the flowers in his hand and the smile inexplicably brightened, lighting up his whole face as if having Geralt in his shop was the best thing that happened to him that day. What a cruel and twisted thought to have, what an ocbvious lie Geralt told himself. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said and somehow managed to sound excited, “what are you doing here?”

Without ceremony, Geralt slammed the bouquet on the counter, inwardly flinching at his own harsh movement. “Teaching you how bouquets work.”

He hadn't meant for rhe words to come out that harshly, not when they would make Jaskier's smile dim, but the way he looked at Gerlat made somehting crack in his chest and his voice broke with it. 

Jaskier let out a startled laugh. “What?”

“I don’t know what game is being played here, but you don’t put weeds in a bouquet for someone you want to talk to.” He pointed at the bouquet he had brought. “ _This_ is what you give someone if you have romantic intentions.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. If I had known you didn’t like those kinds of flowers I wouldn’t have put them in there,” Jaskier said softly, fingers twitching and his tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips. 

“It’s something all florists should know. If you’re going to ruin my business and my day, at least do it with flowers that belong in a bouquet. And tell whoever is getting those flowers for me that I don’t want them.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice was painfully small and his eyes were everywhere but on Geralt. “But they made you smile. That first time - I saw you. You smelled and them and you looked happy and I thought - You really dislike them that much?”

The quiet question was like a punch in the gut. The reminder of Geralt's stupid hope that maybe his fresh start in this town could be a good one, that maybe there was someone here who would not only tolerate his presence but be able to _like_ him, made his heart clench painfully. That first time, there had been dandelions in the boughet. That first time, he had been foolishly happy at the thought that the flowers had been put together for him by the florist with the bright smile. 

As if a tight cord had snapped, all tension left Geralt in an instant. He rubbed a hand down his face and groaned. 

“No, they…I don’t dislike them. They are fine. Pretty.” He sighed and looked away. “I just don’t like receiving them. You…the colours are nice.”

Even out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the way Jaskier’s face morphed from crestfallen to an expression that could rival the sun. 

“Thank you! I had hoped you’d like the colours. The buttercups do look a bit like your eyes, don’t they? Though of course not quite as pretty. It’s really hard to find the perfect flower to match the colour; they are just so special. It’s a shame there are no golden flowers.”

Geralt huffed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, it’s easy for you. Your eyes really look exactly like cornflowers.”

Even as he said those words, his mind came to a screeching halt. No. It couldn’t be. His brows drew together like stormclouds as he searched Jaskier’s face for something, any sign that he hadn’t gotten this all wrong. “Jaskier? Did you -?”

“I’m sorry,” the words rushed out of Jaskier’s mouth and Geralt’s stomach twisted as a panicked look replaced Jaskier’s smile. 

“Why?” It was too much. It couldn’t possibly be Jaskier. Because if it was, then that would mean that Geralt wouldn’t be hopeless in hoping for a chance to meet those blue eyes through a window or that he wouldn’t be gifted with Jaskier’s breathtaking smile again. He couldn't dare allow himself to believe for even a second that it might be that simple, that beautiful. If it weren't then the beautiful thing in his chest that warmed whenever he met Jaskier's eyes however briefly, would wilter, like the petals of a festering flower. _Don't pick buttercups_ , his mother had always said, back when he had been a child picking wildflowers and presenting them to her, as if they would earn him her love, _they wilter too quickly and they won't come back._

Geralt didn't want to. He didn't want to reach for what he couldn't have, what would wilter in his hands.

“I swear I didn’t know you don’t like getting the bouquets." The words kept rushing out of Jaskier, as if they could shield him from Geralt knew not what. "If I had known I would have stopped – I _will_ stop -”

Geralt’s blood ran cold at the words, but his mouth couldn’t form any words, didn’t even know what he wanted to say, except that this was all wrong, that he didn’t mind getting the bouquets from Jaskier, that he was the only one he would want to get them from, that even after his mother had told him not to, in the pricacy of his own garden he had never stopped picking buttercups, on the offchance that this time they would stay.

“I just… you always seemed kind of alone,” Jaskier said, wincing at his own words, “and you are new here and I know how hard it can be to make friends and I really wanted to get to know you better, so I thought that maybe… but I will stop.”

Before Geralt could even open his mouth to protest, to explain, to say _anything_ , the bells chimed again and the palpable relief on Jaskier’s face as he turned away from Geralt and towards the customer made Geralt’s heart clench. 

It was more than obvious that Jaskier didn’t want to be alone with him right now and Geralt couldn't blame him. Without saying another word, Geralt turned back and left, going back to his own shop where the last bouquet he would ever get from Jaskier stood lonely on the counter. 

* * *

Jaskier heaved a heavy sigh as he walked down the street to open the shop in the morning, already dreading the day to come. 

Yesterday, he had done his best to keep smiling and making his customers feel welcome, but it was damn near impossible after his talk with Geralt – and the unmistakable rejection. He had done his best to keep himself busy, but he had found his mind drifting time and time again to what kind of bouquet to make Geralt next, before reality mercilessly came crashing down on him again. 

Rejection was nothing new to him, of course. It was kind of a given when you fell in love fast and hard, any yet Jaskier had been foolish enough to hope that maybe if he sent Geralt enough flowers, they could at the very least become amicable shop neighbours. When he had seen through the window how Geralt put each of his bouquets into a vase, he had thought that maybe they could even be friends. Any yesterday, for a beautiful moment as he had seen Geralt come in, a bouquet of the most beautiful roses in hand, he had let himself hope that – 

He should have known better. 

The only consolation Jaskier had was that Geralt had forgotten to take his bouquet back with him as he had practically stormed out of his shop. At least, Jaskier had had something to take home with him. At least the flowers had allowed him to pretend even if just for a little bit that Geralt’s hadn’t rejected him as harshly as he had. 

But, well, the fact that Jaskier wasn’t at his typical early hour at the shop already, preparing the newest arrangement to put on Geralt’s doorstep before he arrived was all the reminder that his little fantasy of charming Geralt was over. 

He dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration, just as he reached his shop. 

He stopped dead in his tracks. 

It couldn’t be. Geralt wouldn’t – 

Every so slowly, as if it might still turn out to be a dream, Jaskier crouched down to pick up the flowers laying on his doorstep, caressing them carefully, not daring to even breathe. 

The sound of a door falling shut behind him made Jaskier turn. 

And there he was. Standing in front of his flower shop was Geralt, looking somewhat insecure and uncomfortable as he caught Jaskier’s eye.

Jaskier froze, not knowing what to do, but as he lingered at the door shifting his weight from one foot to the other and clutching the flowers tightly, Geralt started to move. 

Jaskier’s eyes widened and his heart was hammering in his chest, as Geralt walked up to him, slowly as if he wanted to give Jaskier the chance to unlock his door and flee into the _Dandelion_ if he wanted. 

He didn’t. 

For some inexplicable reason, Geralt must not have excepted him to stay, for when he reached Jaskier he didn’t open his mouth; he just looked at Jaskier with a strange expression in his eyes that made it hard to breathe. 

He swallowed thickly. 

“You know,” Jaskier said, cracking a hesitant smile, hoping, _hoping_ \- “this isn’t a good bouquet to give someone you don’t want to talk to.”

Red heat crept up Geralt’s cheeks and his eyes darted to the side before landing back on Jaskier. 

“And what about giving them to say that I am sorry and that I would very much like to talk with this someone again?” 

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat and his mouth went dry. “Yeah, that…that would be a good bouquet.” 

He bit his lip, knowing he was pushing his luck, that an apology didn't mean that there was any hope for more, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “But I would also say that the roses, peonies and lilies might be sending a bit of a wrong message still. I have it on good authority that they would be used for something a bit more romantic.”

For an agonizingly long moment Geralt said nothing. When he finally opened his mouth again, a tentative but hopeful smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“If…if that were the message I wanted to send, would you accept the flowers?”

The smile that spread over Jaskier’s face was so wide that it threatened to hurt his cheeks. “I would, if I were allowed to give you flowers in return.”

Something like astonishment shone in Geralt’s eyes. 

“I missed your bouquet today,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier said, pleasant warmth spreading through his chest. “My bouquets might not be quite as romantic, but I will make you as many as you like. Who knows, maybe I’ll even learn how to make proper bouquets with the right help,” he added with a wink.

The shy smile on Geralt’s face turned into something radiant. “Your arrangements are already perfect.” He hesitated, before adding, “Wildflowers were always my favourite.”


End file.
